That Monday started out like any other day. My daughter and I ran out to run a few errands for an hour. I was sipping on my green iced tea from Starbucks. I thought about sneaking over to buy that cute scarf I had been eyeing at Loehmanns. But then I came home.
It took a minute to process the empty space where our TV used to sit and the broken pieces of my side door sitting on the floor. And as I grabbed my daughter by the hand and ran back into the garage and into the safety of my car, I just couldn’t get over the fact that we had been robbed. That shit only happened to other people, right?
Later, as we walked through and took inventory of our house, I mentally took an inventory of my feelings. Knowing that someone had been watching, waiting for us to leave left me speechless. The fact that they had taken my beloved Macbook and every piece of jewelry that I owned besides the wedding ring I had been wearing seemed like a side note. Because in reality, they had taken so much more.
They had stolen my sense of well-being in a neighborhood I had felt safe in for years. There were a ton of things I could have done to make their job so much harder. But my misguided belief that those types of things didn’t happen in my community basically handed them my belongings on a silver platter.
After that day, the world looked a little different. The dark corners seemed a bit scarier, the noises that went bump in the night felt a bit louder. It reminded me of the time right after I had my daughter, when all the many things in the world I had to protect her from overwhelmed and terrified me. I felt pangs of that same fear now.
But like with all bad things that happen, a silver lining appears if you’re willing to look for it. Like the fact that I’m highly allergic to almost all of my jewelry and wasn’t able to wear it anyway. And after the break-in, the hubs gave the green light on getting a big ass dog, something I had been begging for. (Although this wasn’t how I planned to get my way! I swear!)
And from the moment we found Sasha at the shelter and brought her home, we were in love with her. And we thought she loved us too.
Until that bitch ran away.
She ran past me like a bolt of lightning when I opened the door and took off immediately to the busiest road (of course!), where one step off the sidewak would turn her into doggy kibble.
I dropped my purse and phone in the driveway and sprinted after her in my paper flip-flops(I had just come from a man-pedi with extra massage!) About a half-mile into my chase, I ditched those shitty paper shoes and started running barefoot. But it was to no avail. She wouldn’t come to me, and now that I was aware that I lived in the kind of neighborhood that gets robbed, I knew I had better hightail it back to my Loius Vuitton pronto.
So my out-of-shape ass sprinted Amazing Race style all the way back. Tears in my eyes, I grabbed my purse and keys. How the f*ck was I going to explain to the kids that Mommy lost the dog? The only damn dog we had looked at that hadn't thought the kids were Scooby snacks? How were we going to find another one? And what the hell was wrong with her anyway? I bought that bitch a seventy dollar bed and massaged her paws! So now a homeless rescue dog was too good for us? WTF? And why hadn’t I started that P90x I bought from that creepy guy on Craig’s List last month? I was heaving and coughing like I was about to have a heart attack. (And I have the broken blood vessel in my eye to prove it!)
I had told myself that I wouldn’t let the robbery make me feel like everything was going wrong, but this whole dog breakout thing was going to seriously hamper those efforts.
I began to back out the driveway, ready to comb the neighborhood. I still had a few hours to find her before the kids got home. Then I heard a honk and saw a car pull up behind me. Jumping out, I immediately saw Sasha smiling in the backseat. The sight of me chasing my dog down the street in paper shoes had compelled this woman, this angel, to stop what she was doing and follow us. When I gave up and turned back to get my car, she continued following Sasha until she could coax her into the car. This time, being watched and followed had been a blessing. I don’t know what I more thankful for: the fact that she had brought the dog we had fallen in love with home or that this one act of kindness made the world look bright again.
The moral of my story? The next time you have a chance to help someone out-do it. You have no idea the incredible impact your one small act can have on another. Oh, and use your deadbolt! I wish I had.
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xoxo, Liz